A BRUSH WITH WOLVES.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19198, 14 June 1924, Page 11

A BRUSH WITH WOLVES.

By Jons - A. Hope, in the Canadian Forest and Outdoors. My most exciting adventure with wolves came when all alone many miles north of the nearest settlement. Walking shortly after day-break along the edge of a long lake to examine some traps, in the teeth of a bitterly cold wind, carrying a slight flurry of snow, the “yi-ki-hi’s” of a pack giving tongue broke on my ears from a hardwood ridge running parallel with the lake on my left. Being nothing unusual in such a wolfinfested district, I kept steadily on, body bent and eyes lowered to escape the keen wind. Presently, glancing ahead. I saw what looked like a deer, come out of tho timber some 900 to 1000 yards distant, followed by a second, then a third, until I counted 14—of what I now recognised were wolves, and probably the same pack I had heard a short time before, as they wore running in the same direction as myself. Crouching down, I watched them intently for a few minutes to see what they would do, for one may pass a lifetime in the woods—as many dp—and never see a band of wolves in broad daylight. Evidently they had failed to overtake and kill in the light snows of early winter, for presently they lay down on the ice some little distance out from the edge. Then it suddenly occurred to me to put to the tost tho continually advertised theory and firmly rooted opinion among backwoodsmen generally that “a pack of wolves will attack man.” Here was tho opportunity. (Jetting on to my feet, I commenced walking slowly towards them. For the first 60ft or 70ft they gave no sign; presently a slight upheaval, and the whole pack were sitting up on their haunches with heads turned in my direction. Their keen eyes had caught the lone figure out on the ice. Now which would they do—slink into the limber or charge and pull mo down? All doubts were quickly set at rest as part of the pack sprang forward, the rest trailing on a few seconds later. On they came straight towards me. “Ah!” I thought, getting ready to receive them, “the theories and firmly roted opinions were correct then apparently, for here are 14 wolves charging down on me in broad daylight.’ Nine hundred, eight hundred, seven hundred, how swiftly and smoothly in long, low bounds, and in perfect silence, they covered the level ice, with its thin coating of snow, opening out in extended order as they came, like a lady’s fan. Six hundred, five hundred, four hundred yards. ‘‘By heavens.” I thought, jamming a clip of cartridges into the magazine of my rifle, “they mean business, and I frankly admit a nervous sweat broke out on my forehead. I had dropped a charging grizzly in the Rockies, the same with an enraged wapiti stag in the “rutting” season that I had badly wounded and cornered; and climbed a gum sampling in a hurry to escape a wild boar my dogs had irritated to madness in a river swamp in Australia. But here was something new, something unexpected—which past experience did not warrant—sweeping down in perfect silence, a silence that unnerved, with the speed of racehorses, opening out until the points of the “fan” were some 200 ft apart, to encircle—their usual tactics with deer. Three hundred. Two hundred. Something must be done, and that quickly, for the strain on the nerves had become unbearable. Springing up on the s’owshoes I had been kneeling on, I fired r.ght and left at the two points of tho “fan.” At the two sharp cracks and the showers of ioe i ipped up by the high-power bullets, the “fan” closed*up with surprising suddenness, wheeled round, oj>.d sped back over their tracks. Surprised and relieved, I sent shot after shot at the fleeing grey devils, the rippedup ice falling in showers over and around them, until they disappeared into tho timber where I had first seen them. Here are three points to consider: 1. Did the neck really charge down on what they knew was a man? 2. Would they have carried the attack home had I not fired? 3. Did they mistake me for a deer? I incline to the third theory.